Free 18 Explosive Eighteen by Janet Evanovich

to my mother. “She’s going to have dinner with us.”
    My mother was at the stove, turning pieces of chicken in her big fry pan. “I’m trying a new recipe. I found it in a magazine. And there’s mashed potatoes and green beans. And before I forget, there were two men here looking for you. They said they were FBI.”
    My heart stopped beating for a moment. “Did they give their names?”
    “One was named Lancer and the other was Slasher,” my mother said. “They seemed nice. Very polite. I told them I didn’t know where you were, and they went away.”
    “What’s that about?” Grandma asked. “Are you tracking down some famous criminal? I bet it’s someone on the Ten Most Wanted list.”
    “It’s a misunderstanding,” I said. “If there was someone in the area on the Ten Most Wanted list, Ranger would get that job, not me. I’l catch up with them tomorrow.”
    I set the table and wandered into the living room to say hel o to my dad.
    “Look at this,” he said, gesturing to the television.
    “There’s more on that guy who got stuffed into the garbage can. They’re saying now they think he was drugged before he was snuffed and stuffed into the can. It’s not official or anything, but that’s what a security guard said. And I guess there’s a woman involved.”
    “A woman?”
    “They’re referring to her as a person of interest.
    You know what that means. The kiss of death. The person of interest is always the kil er.” I hated to think that was true, since I might be the person of interest.
    My grandmother joined us. “Are you talking about the garbage can kil er? I heard the dead guy was a doctor in the army, and he might have been a spy when he was over there in Afghanistan.” She sucked on her dentures. “That spying catches up to you. One minute you’re a spy, and next thing, you’re dead in a garbage can. Unless you’re James Bond. Nothing stops him. He’s bal s to the wal .”
    My father hunkered deeper into his chair and turned the volume up on the television.
    “Shut the television off!” my mother yel ed from the dining room. “It’s too loud, and dinner’s ready.” I took my seat at the table, and my phone rang.
    “I’m at the junkyard,” Morel i said. “The dog found a body, but we haven’t been able to view it. We haven’t got a big enough can opener.”
    “Only one body?”
    “So far. The dog’s stil working. Where are you?”
    “I’m having dinner at my parents’ house. My mom made fried chicken.”
    “Oh man, that’s cruel. I love your mom’s fried chicken.”
    “I’l bring some back to my apartment for you.”
    “This could take a while,” Morel i said.
    “Whatever.”
    “Who was that?” Grandma asked when I hung up.
    “Was that Ranger?”
    “No. It was Morel i.”
    “It’s hard to keep up with it al ,” Grandma said. “I don’t know how you do it. You’re married, and then you’re not married, and then you’re saving chicken for Morel i.”
    I couldn’t keep up with it, either. I didn’t know what the heck I was doing.
    “You need Annie to help you,” Grandma said.
    “She’s real smart. She’s fixing up everyone at bowling. She even had a man in mind for me, but I told her he was too old. I don’t want some flabby, wrinkled codger to take care of. I want a young stud with a nice firm behind.”
    My mother refil ed her wineglass and my father put his fork down and hit his head on the table. BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG .
    “Go for it,” I said to Grandma.
    “I’m not so old,” Grandma said. “There’s parts of me don’t sit as high as they used to, but I’ve got some miles left.”
    My father pantomimed stabbing himself in the eye with his fork.
    Okay, so my family’s a little dysfunctional. It’s not like they’re dangerous. At least we al sit down and have dinner together. Plus, by Jersey standards, we’re pretty much normal.
    NINE
    MY FATHER WAS SETTLED IN, watching sitcom reruns, when I left. My mother and